Last Friday Night
by evieeden
Summary: Darcy wakes up one morning to a fabulous pair of arms. Advent fic for 12th December.


**Happy 12** **th** **December. I'm still a day behind, but at this moment I'm still confident I can catch up at some point. Anyway, thanks for continuing to read and I hope you like it. As always, I don't own anything to do with Marvel.**

 **L: Last Friday Night – Katy Perry**

 **Last Friday Night**

"Fuck!"

Darcy's head was pounding as she woke up, an entire brass band having taken up residence in her skull while she was asleep. Her tongue felt heavy in her dry mouth and as she blearily opened her eyes, she winced at the light streaming through the windows of Jane's trailer.

For a split second, she was completely disoriented, until she remembered that her boss was currently in North Carolina with Eric gathering data on…something…and she had temporarily moved into the trailer while she was away, taking advantage of having a full-sized double bed to stretch out in.

She couldn't stretch out much though at that moment, and she frowned at the feel of something warm and heavy pinning her waist to the bed.

Rubbing her eyes, Darcy squinted down and clapped a hand over her mouth to stop herself from squealing at the sight of an arm wrapped around her middle.

This couldn't be happening.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she fumbled for her glasses which she had left on the nightstand and shoved them onto her face before looking down.

The arm was still there and now that she could actually see, even though her head was still making the task difficult, she noted that not only was the arm male, but it was strong, well-muscled and looked oddly familiar.

Turning over, she glanced at the body next to her, the man's face blurring before coming into focus.

Holy…

Clint Barton.

One of Coulson's 'jack-booted thugs', he had stuck around in Puente Antiguo on his boss's orders, keeping watch on the scientists in the event that Thor came back or someone came looking for Jane's research, especially now it had been proven to be accurate.

He never talked to them though, never even came near them really.

When she mentioned that to Coulson – or Phil, 'cos he had returned her iPod so they were totally bros now and she could call them Phil – he had told her something about Barton seeing better from a distance.

Last night, however, he hadn't kept to his usual pattern.

She had left the lab late, hoping to pop by the town's local dive bar for a drink and some company before she went to bed. It was Friday night after all, and she didn't want to spend it watching TV alone just like every night. On the way there, she noticed that she had picked up a tail. Just for her own amusement, she took her time getting there, weaving back and forth down dark alleys and up quiet roads, just to make him follow her. In a fit of giggles, she began sprinting once she reached the next corner and then ducked into the small side alley and through the door into the back of the bar, closing it firmly behind her and flipping the lock.

She had requisitioned a seat at the end of the bar and started drinking her first margarita when Barton entered the building, muscles tense and eyes sweeping the room. His gaze stopped when it reached her and she offered him a blinding smile and a little wave.

Instead of huffing and setting up his lookout from the other side of the room like she expected him to, he sidled through the room, nodding at some of the locals who recognised him, and sat down next to her.

She propped her elbow up on the bar top and leaned on her hand.

"I'm impressed," she stated.

He didn't look at her, gesturing toward Henry, the barman, who brought a beer over, top still attached and passed over an opener. Barton rewarded him with a twenty and Henry left as quickly as he arrived. She watched the older man open the bottle curiously.

"Wow! Paranoid much."

He shrugged and tilted his head back, swallowing what looked like at least half of the bottle, before he put the beer down again.

"In my line of work, you can never be too paranoid," he announced.

They sat drinking silently for a while. He was ignoring her and everything around him, but she was certain that he was aware of absolutely everything and everyone that was going on in the bar. He was older than some of the other Shield agents she had seen on duty around them – not significantly older, maybe mid-thirties compared to their mid-twenties – and although she had never heard him speak before, she would bet money on him originally being from the Midwest based on the twang in his accent.

"So are you just going to sit there?" she asked.

He took another swig of his drink. "I'm tasked with keeping a close eye on you, Miss Lewis…"

"Darcy," she interrupted.

"…and I can't do that from the other side of the room or outside."

She shrugged and ordered another drink.

Eventually she got bored of sitting there staring at him though; he made it through two beers just people-watching at the bar – and she bodily dragged him over to the dart board, challenging everyone on her way to a competition.

Normally, she was good at darts, so when she lost four games in a row, she started pouting.

"Urgh," she leaned against the wall next to Barton. "I'm normally much better at this."

Not expecting a response from her silent companion, she was surprised when he finally deigned to speak with her.

"You're throwing too hard to the left."

Darcy eyed him speculatively. "Is that so?"

He shrugged and she found herself giving him an appraising look.

"Hey, Stan," she called out to her next challenger, a grey-haired bearded man who ran the local gas station and commiserated with Darcy over the plotlines in Breaking Bad. "I'm out of this round, so my man Barton's going to step up for me."

Barton turned to glare at her and she grinned and shrugged.

"You can't back out now. Half the bar heard that."

Barton sighed heavily, but put his latest beer down and shrugged out of his jacket.

God. Darcy thought her jaw may have dropped just a little.

Barton, underneath that tactical jacket, was _ripped_. _Those arms_. Oh the things she could do with those arms.

Those arms that put Stan and every other man in the bar's skills at darts to shame. She no longer wondered why Barton was a part of Shield.

He seemed to loosen up as the night went on though.

First they thoroughly whipped everyone's butt at darts, Darcy was totally taking credit for their victories, then they moved onto pool, something Barton was equally skilled at but Darcy had the advantage of her boobs distracting him every time she leaned over to take a shot (it was nice to know that he was human after all) and finally they tried their hand at karaoke on the bar's old jukebox.

She thought that might have been the point when Henry cut them both off, but she vaguely remembered a bottle of vodka being produced from somewhere before she invited him into the trailer with her.

She wasn't sure of the exact details, but she was certain those arms had felt incredible as she had dug her nails into them. She also felt pleasantly sore, so she was pretty sure the sex had been incredible too.

She started to move, to wriggle out of bed, but his hand pulled her back until she was spooned against him.

"Mmm… don't go," he mumbled sleepily.

She relaxed back against him, glad that he didn't seem put out to find himself waking up next to her.

"Aren't you meant to be watching me from a distance?" she asked, pulling her glasses off again and closing her eyes.

He hugged her closer and pressed a kiss to the back of her neck, one of his hands sliding over her hip.

"In this case, I think I can keep a better eye on you from right here."


End file.
